


You Are Castiel

by resurrectedhippo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: College AU, F/F, Freshman!Dean, Gen, M/M, Pining Dean, Resident Assistant!Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 17:32:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resurrectedhippo/pseuds/resurrectedhippo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>College AU in which Dean has disgusting crush on his RA (Resident Assistant) Castiel Novak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are Castiel

**Author's Note:**

> Oh gosh, please be gentle, this is my first destiel fanfic, ever. I've read hundreds of destiel fics and I finally got around to writing my own. The title was inspired by Richard Siken's "You Are Jeff" which has been used in a handful of destiel edits that are circulating Tumblr.  
> I don't have a Beta so all mistakes are mine. If anyone is interested in ever being my Beta (which I would be extremely thankful for because it's much needed) please message me. :-)

One thing Dean learned in History 10 was how the greatness of man is measured by how many cities he conquered and what infrastructures he built, but overall, he soon realizes, that the history of great men was built because those British Historians—who claim to be the first contemporary Historians, said they were. He's definitely learning and he's definitely kicking ass in his classes while still having the time to afford being drunk every other weekend and fondle with some blonde's breast.

  
But Castiel Novak was totally kicking Dean's ass.

  
He always thought the third year RA was a bit eccentric--he spoke slowly, wide blue eyes anchoring yours to his and he stood with his back straight, like he always had his arms behind his back to keep his spine from bending. Castiel was extremely protective of his floor, he highly recommended quiet hours by eleven--meaning, no students stumbling in the falls drunk or girls screaming at one another about the 4th floor RA (the utterly handsome one with dark hair and blue eyes that girls and boys just can't help but swoon over) and absolutely no Metallica blasting from 423B's room. Which means Dean needs to unplug his stereo in approximately three minutes before the dreaded RA knocks on his door. Deans lets the last beats play off as he tosses a few haphazard clothes onto his laundry basket while chatting off with his roommate, meaning he’s complaining (or gushing) about the fickle and uptight bastard RA down the hall.

"Better turn that down, brother. Your man crush might come down here and I don't need your lovefest here." Benny returned his attention to his laptop, he was currently composing an essay on the importance of agriculture to the creation of civilization. Fuck, General Ed’s, he’d rather learn about the vitality of blood to the body, after all, his plan is to be a surgeon.

  
"Yeah, that’s exactly what I wanted." Dean retorted, but before he can grudgingly turn the volume switch to the left, there was a loud, insisted knock on the door.

  
"Shit, Winchester, I do not want to get written up because of you." Benny nodded towards the door, "Go handle it."

  
Dean sighed as he opened the door. He didn’t want to look at Castiel knowing that’s all he’d see when the lights go out and he’d pop a hard on—and there’s no way he’d beat it with Benny in asleep on the other side of the room. But he wasn’t going to be a blushing middle school who looked at her shoes, so off with those blue eyes. Dean Winchester might as well have a gun to his head. He smiled. "Listen, I know, and I'm sorry, I was about to turn it down, I swear."

"Do I need to remind you that of you get written up three times you'll be expelled from this building for disruption?" Dean could have sworn that this annoyingly handsome RA, who he denies having any feelings for or attraction to, was about to roll his eyes. Castiel looked down at his watch, "It's 11:03, don't waste my time Dean."  
"Cas, it's been three minutes."  
"Rules are rules Dean and they're made for a reason." Dean noted the slight darkness under those blue eyes, feeling guilty, he apologized and attempted to impair Cas with his winning smile.

"It won't happen again," Dean saluted as he watched Castiel make his way down the hall, probably back into his room to listen to some Classical music, but Dean thought he's the type to listen to Cash and Dylan. He sighed again, that ass was glorious in those slacks, dammit. Dean threw himself onto his bed, laundry be damned, he was sure his body was singing and close to popping a hard-on.  
"So, how'd it go?"  
"Whatever, same old tightass, 'turn it down Dean,'" Dean waved him off.  
"Yeah, and I bet you're into that tight ass." Dean grunted in reply, he didn't want to argue, at least Castiel acknowledges his existence, even if it's not in the way he wants. Hopefully, this subtly annoyance develops into some sort of fervent love affair like how they usually do on romcoms. Christ, when did he stop boning girls and became one?

But you see, Dean and Castiel do end up together that's an inevitable sort of happening the universe presents them. The attraction was undeniable and they were drawn to each other as much as they resisted. Well, at least Dean was sure of that. So he decided to stop, even though he's still beating his cock in the shower thinking of that Castiel and his ass and his eyes and those chapped lips.  
Dean doesn't deny that he likes Castiel. Oh god. He doesn't even know him, the only conversations they have is when Dean is causing trouble. But he sees how Castiel is with his floor mates, he is caring, often encouraging students to succeed in school while balancing their social life. There was even a time when Jo Harvelle down the hall was caught doing the obscene with Anna Milton, "an experiment" they said--yeah, if making out and groping each other in the hall ways is a social experiment then Dean wasn't going to argue. They reeked of alcohol when Castiel found them and instead of written them up for being intoxicated, Castiel shook his head and walked them to their rooms. (Even though Ash from across the hall proclaimed Castiel joined them for a threesome. Dean thinks is absurd, Jo and Anna were obviously into each other.) And very often, when Chuck would come walk around the halls in the middle of the night, blown from the blunt he lights at the lake, Castiel would eye him with a small smile that was easy to miss and shake his head. Now that Dean thinks about it, he's pretty much the only one on their floor that's made it to the RA's shit list. Whenever he sees Castiel in the halls, he pulls out that charming Winchester smile. Sometimes he even adds a wink. But goddamn, he's boy with a leather jacket and he has a massive crush on his RA, what else is he supposed to do?

Dean’s not one for rules and formalities, he’s pretty sure there wasn’t a bullet note on his Orientation packet stating he can’t date his RA and he could care less about what people thought. He’d be pretty proud of himself for having Castiel. If that ever happens.

It was a morning Tuesday when he stumbles out of the elevator--almost four AM--and was faced with a deserted lounge. Well, almost deserted. Castiel sat by the large window, the shades were shut and Dean was almost disappointed because the quiet outside was peaceful. The TV played re-runs of a medical drama, he’s sure it was Dr. Sexy, M.D., by just glance of the sitcom’s layout. Cas sat on one of the surprisingly comfortable sofas, his arms resting across the plain of his chest, legs wide open. He looked different, Dean noted.  
“Cas?”  
Castiel tore his gaze from the wall, he wasn’t even watching Dr. Sexy. His eyes, the parts that were slightly open were blood shot, “Hello, Dean.”  
“Yeah, uhm, hey.” Good job Winchester, you’ve banged almost the entire cheerleading team and you’ve gotten blown by a couple of guys from the soccer team and you’ve been reduced to utterly disappointing greeting. Dean wanted to throw himself of the nearest open window. (Which probably would be Chuck’s, assuming he lit a joint in his room.)  
“Did you just get back?”  
“Yeah, I did actually.” Dean refused to rub his neck, he didn’t need to explain anything to Castiel, but here he was. “I was actually at the library studying for Physics, that shit’s killing me man.”  
Castiel agreed, “Yes, it is fairly difficult if you aren’t crazy about numbers.”  
“Nah, I’m just crazy about yours.”  
Castiel flashed Dean a rare smile, one he’s actually never seen, it’s with white teeth and gums, and it takes him a while to realize that Castiel is actually laughing. And Dean, the disgusting softie he is, melts in that romantic way, as if he feels his heart taking root in his body, like that poem by Siken. _Like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for._  
“What was that?”  
Shit, did he just say that out loud? “Uhm, nothing…” He stuttered for a response, a continuation to his lie, but what was the horrid thing Wilde said about honesty? And why did he decide to be an English major again if he wasn’t going to be quoting shit? “It’s a poem by Richard Siken, _You Are Jeff_.”  
“I wouldn’t have assumed you liked poetry.”  
“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t assume too much about someone you don’t know.”  
“Should I get to know you?” Castiel countered, he was smiling an extremely disarming smile, and if Dean was a girl, he’d run to his room and write about it on his diary later. He’s not a girl, but he’d be damned if he refused to capture that smile with his fingers and trap them into words only he knows the beat to. Fuck, he’s a sap.  
Dean shrugs, in pathetic hope that it Castiel somehow interprets it as a yes. “Why are still up?”  
Castiel is still smiling and it’s quite endearing with the gums and the day old stubble, “I should be honest with you since you honorably admitted your fascination with poetry.”  
“I’m actually an English major.” Dean admitted as he sat across Cas. They were still an unfortunate distance apart.  
“Oh.”  
“Yeah, you can thank Vonnegut for that.”  
“I saw Chuck Shurley earlier.” Castiel says, his eyes on Dean, imposing, abrasive, irritating, and lovely in every possible way.  
“How’s dear old Chuck?” Dean snorted, Chuck was in his writing class—an aspiring writer yearning to be published. Very much like Dean, really.  
“He dropped a joint and a canister, so I took it. Then I ran into Balthazar. I should not be telling you this, but you are Dean Winchester. We smoked that joint and found a bong for the leftovers, thanks to Crowley of course.”  
“Is that why you’re talking to me? Because you’re in a peachy mood?” Dean was ready to head to bed, to forget this conversation ever happened. Admittedly, he’s upset that he’s only having a conversation with Cas because the latter is high. What a bummer.  
“I always want to talk to you.”  
“Thanks for confession.” Dean is not blushing, it’s all probably deception and flattery.  
“But you’re one of the kids here, it’s my responsibility to take care of you.”  
Dean really wants to tell him that if he wants to take care of him, Cas would get on his knees, now. Because slightly closed blue eyes and lean legs and parted lips scream sexual fantasies in need of coming true.  
“Thanks for that Cas.” Dean snorts bitterly. He wasn’t a kid, he was eighteen, okay? Castiel’s only a year older than him despite being a third year. Maybe, if he shoves his fingers into that box of feelings he’s tried to unacknowledged, he’d admit that he’s not used to being taken care of or of wanting people to take care of him, because it was always him doing the caring—taking Sammy to school, taking on a part-time job, being a loyal son—all that to ensure a somewhat decent life for his small circle of family.  
“You’re welcome, Dean.”  
Silence ensues, the background music to a tacky middle of the night commercial airs, and they ignore the sizzling sparks of the room that could cause a fire.  
“He likes you, you know.” Dean finally says, because fuck it, he’s getting through this—he studied for Chem, finished all the notes he had to copy from Charlie, it’s almost 5AM and he is sore from the fact that he’d probably get less than five hours of sleep if he’s going attend his 10AM lecture.  
“Balthazar?” Castiel is unsurprised.  
“Yes.” Dean confirms.  
“I know.”  
“I like you too, you know?” Dean says, slowly, as if he needs Castiel to understand this—as if it’s a turning point in their non-existent relationship.  
“I know.” Castiel isn’t smiling, but his eyes are wider and they are as blue as a lake by the campus when the weather is nice and afternoon sun is as bright as it was in the morning.  
“O-Okay.”  
“I like you too, you know?”  
“So what’re you going to do, Cas?” Dean’s on his toes his ready to bolt to Castiel or Chuck’s assumed open window.  
“I’m not going to kiss you,” he’s leaning on his knees and looking at Dean. “Because I don’t want you to think I’m only speaking these words because I was under the influence of Chuck’s marijuana.”  
Dean smiles, “Will you ever kiss me?”  
“Yes.”  
“When?” And he’s standing up, he’s pass the table that was once a metaphorical ocean between them, and he’s sitting beside Cas.  
“Sometime.” Cas quirks.  
“When?”  
“Every time you don’t turn down Metallica and Led Zeppelin.”  
Dean grins, “Every night then.”

_-end-_


End file.
